Of Clouds and Spoons
by serendipitiness
Summary: Nobody would have imagined that the only one who could care for Hermione Granger when she lost herself was the boy who had, because of her, just found himself. AU War, One-shot.


It's very dark, and I like it. It's like I've closed my eyes and gone to sleep and can never wake up again.

It's also wet, which I suppose I don't like quite as much, but it's okay. The _drip drip drip_ noise is nice, and there are all these puddles in the corners I can dip my fingers in. It's like my fingers get to go for a swim, and I like to swim.

The door is opening again and I don't like it when it creaks. It sounds evil and I don't like the people who come in through it.

Oh, except _him_. He has come to bring me my food today. He's very pretty, you know? He's got hair that's so blond it's almost white like those puffy clouds I used to see in the sky when I was little, except his hair isn't puffy because then it wouldn't be pretty. Puffy hair isn't pretty, someone told me before I think.

His eyes are very nice too. They're grey, or silver – is there a difference? – and they always get a little bit shiny when I see him. I'm not sure why, but I feel like it's important and I want to know why, so I ask him today.

He doesn't answer me, which is very rude I think. He turns his face away for a little bit then just shoves a plate under my nose and says, "Here, Granger."

I tell him my name is Hermione. He's so silly. Why would people call each other by their last names? He's nice to me, you see, so I think he should call me Hermione. I tell him that too.

Then he comes and grabs my shoulders and shakes me and tells me to hang on, and I ask him why, but he won't say. Hang on to what? My spoon?

He takes a really deep breath and he gets this crease in between his eyebrows and I wish it wasn't there, so I reach my hand out and I try to get rid of the wrinkle but then he grabs my hand really tight and his lovely silver eyes are all shiny again. He pats me on the back and then all of a sudden he pulls me into a hug and then I can't breathe because I think the last time someone got this close to me here there was all this pain and I don't want more pain.

Then he lets go and he's saying over and over again, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Now I can breathe normally again so I say it's okay, and then he gives me a little smile and _oh_, he's beautiful. Before I can tell him that though, he tells me to be quiet and good and I'll be out of here soon.

Out.

Where's that?

* * *

><p>When he had told me before that Hermione wasn't alright, I hadn't thought much of it. Of course she wasn't alright – who was, after being captured and tortured by Voldemort's forces for months on end? I told him once we got her out, we'd do whatever we could in our power to set her right again. She was my best friend, my sister, and being that close to me had gotten her caught… the guilt ate me up, and I wouldn't rest until she was back with us, seated between me and Ron with a warm meal in belly. At this point, it was the least I could give her.<p>

There was more to it than just guilt, though. I needed her back; _we_ needed her back. Her brains, her endless optimism, her bossiness… Godric's Hollow wasn't _right_ without her.

On the scheduled night when Hermione would finally come back to us, every remaining member of the Order sat pensively in the drawing room, some waiting patiently while others were pacing and tearing up the floorboards. No need to tell you which group Ron was in.

Someone pounded on the front door. For a moment, absolute silence pervaded the room, settling over us heavily until another knock startled us out of the quiet.

Tonks flew to the door, and Draco Malfoy stepped through with a limp figure in his arms. Before any of us could ask, he answered, "My name is Draco Abraxas Malfoy, I have been acting as a double agent ever since the Dark Lord killed my mother, and all you troublesome Gryffindors used to call me a ferret."

"Still do," I retorted, relieved smile on my face.

"Shut your trap, Potter. She needs help."

And so the next few days were spent concentrated on healing Hermione, though had she been conscious I'm sure she would have protested. Quite honestly I had no business taking up space in that cramped room – healing spells weren't my forte – but I wanted to be there for her when she woke up. I expected she'd want to see me and Ron.

Who would have known that when she woke up that her eyes would dart frantically about the room, shifting from scarred to freckled faces before finally landing on the pale visage of one Draco Malfoy, our former enemy?

That smile Hermione reserved for Malfoy, coupled with her sunken cheeks and feverishly bright brown eyes, broke my heart.

* * *

><p>I wanted to kill him.<p>

I wanted to wring his throat and ask him what he'd done to her so that she wouldn't look at me anymore.

I wanted to AK him, though that wouldn't have given me the same satisfaction.

I wanted to… until I passed by her room that night in November.

I heard whispering, and I couldn't help it and peeked through the crack in the doorway. I was shocked into an indignant silence when I saw them sitting together on her bed, with his arms wrapped lightly around her as she rested against his chest. For a long moment, I couldn't breathe. Impulsively, I grabbed an Extendable Ear out of my pocket and set to work to eavesdrop. Maybe I'd reveal some insidious plan of that evil bastard's.

Hermione was rambling about nothing, and that was an indicator, if nothing else, that the girl I loved was gone. She was going off about clouds or something.

"Granger," Malfoy said.

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," I heard Hermione say.

"Alright, Hermione. Do you remember which one Pot – I mean Harry is?"

"Scar. And glasses."

"Right. And Ron?"

"Freckles."

"Well, that could be George or… whatever, close enough." Close enough, my arse! I was halfway to barging into that room to give that snotty ferret a piece of my mind, when he spoke up again.

"They… damn, can't believe I'm saying this… they really care about you, you know? They want you to get better."

"Have I told you your hair looks like a big puffy white cloud? But not puffy?"

"Yes, Hermione, you have. But you know –"

"I like it."

"Thank you. Did you hear what I said earlier, though?"

"Is there food? … Draco?"

"Yes, there is. I'll go get you some."

"No, wait, no! Don't leave, don't let go, I don't want to be alone –" Her voice was suddenly agitated, desperate, in a way I'd never heard before. It scared me. Malfoy's next line scared me more, though.

"Shh, okay, I won't leave you." Where had he come from, this man who comforted Hermione, who was sitting on the same bed as a Muggleborn and holding her like he loved her?

"Ever?"

"Ever."

Was it possible that he, too, felt the guilt that had become firmly settled on Harry's shoulders, and even mine? The guilt that intensified every time she flinched from us or turned to Malfoy's shoulder… did he feel it too?

If it was one of those ghastly films that Hermione had showed me once before on a telly, I would have chucked up my lunch right there and then. But this was a new Hermione, a Hermione who was a little lost, and somehow Malfoy was giving her a new direction.

Before I made to leave, I heard a faint murmur come from Hermione.

"Draco, did you know your eyes are the color of a spoon?"

I caught the sound of some rustling, and a faint little sigh of contentment coming from Hermione.

"Are they, now? I hadn't noticed before," Malfoy chuckled.

"Yes," Hermione answered determinedly in a tone reminiscent of her earlier days. "I like it."

This Hermione, the one whose feet weren't quite planted firmly on the ground, whose head was floating amongst those puffy white clouds, couldn't be helped by me. And sometime during the last minutes of her conversation with Malfoy, I let her go.

They would be okay.

* * *

><p>AN: I don't own any characters, all belongs to JK Rowling! Please read & review(:


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